Saving Carl
by We'reTheOnesWhoWrite
Summary: With Carl on the brink of death from a walker bite, Michonne and Rick receive a message from the future. The cure to being bitten is in the rarest blood type on the planet - the same type as André's. Rick must travel to the past to save the child who will save his son, but at the risk of losing Michonne forever. Set in the ZA universe *We do not own these characters*
1. Chapter 1

A/N: This story was written by **Afilmmefatale** based on a prompt by **jojoindia** - **blog** on Tumblr.

Please be sure to check out her other works on her FF page.

 **-We're The Ones Who Write**

* * *

 _ **Chapter 1**_

The imminence of death was unbearable. Rick yearned to be anywhere but here - sitting on the cold floor, in the dim light of the living room, beside Carl's still form on the sofa. But it was the only place he could be.

This was not a threat he could flee from or silence with his magnum - this was his son dying. He clutched Carl's clammy hand, larger than it had been even a year ago. He felt Carl's forehead with the back of his hand, his countenance pale with the promise of death. The anti-inflammatories and pain meds from Siddiq, along with Michonne's around-the-clock compresses, had mitigated his fever, but his skin was still hot to the touch.

They were losing him. Carl had drifted into unconsciousness some time ago, but he held onto life with a quiet determination. His shallow breathing and weak pulse were the only signs he was still with them.

Light from the street lamps shone through the bare windows. The lights had turned on as scheduled, minutes before sundown, oblivious to the fact that more than half of Alexandria was in shambles. On the coffee table, Rick noticed Carl's worn paperback copy of _To Kill A Mockingbird_. A slip of paper was placed about three quarters into the book.

 _He'll never finish it_ , Rick thought, wanting to scream and sob all at once, unable to do either. He was out of tears. There would be no release from the anger and regret and inescapable sorrow.

 _Carl is going to die._

A walker bite to the torso was all it had taken to sentence his son to death. And Rick's reason for living would likely die with him. He squeezed his raw eyes shut and pinched the bridge of his nose. His other hand wrapped around the butt of his holstered magnum.

"Give me your gun," Michonne said, forcing his tormented mind back into the light. She stood in the doorway, her smooth brown cheeks streaked with dried tears.

"You don't need to take my gun, Michonne. I'm fine," Rick said, lying through his teeth.

She crept toward him, as though reading his thoughts. "Carl wants you to live after he's gone. Not to give up."

Rick laughed involuntarily, both angry and ashamed at the truth in her words. "If you know what's best, why weren't you here? Why didn't you keep him from going out there in the first place?"

She stopped dead in her tracks, jerking back as though he'd hit her. "I couldn't just sit here and do nothing. I wanted to help you."

The despair and hopelessness Rick first felt at learning of Carl's imminent demise reared its ugly head. He stood, needles prickling in his legs and thighs. He relished in the pain, letting his agony get the better of him. "He was the one who needed your help."

The sting of her slap drove away the tumultuous emotions clouding his mind. He could see clearly again.

"Michonne." He reached out, but she was already gone. He heard the front door open and slam shut.

Rick slammed his fist into the nearest wall. He barely registered the bloody knuckles and mind-numbing pain. He unholstered his gun, his grip sure and decided. He had to do this now, before she came back. It would only be harder if she were here to witness it. Carl had wanted to do it himself, before he lost consciousness and turned, but Rick had talked him out of it.

He swayed with dizziness. This room had come to mean so much to Rick. It was where Judith had taken her first steps. Where he and Michonne had made love for the first time. Now, it would become the room where he'd put his son down.

The silence in the empty house made Rick want to yell at the top of his lungs. He was alone, with no need to hold back. The others had fled to the Hilltop, Daryl promising to look after Judith. Only he and Michonne had stayed behind with Carl, to be with him as he took his last breath.

The dirty bandage covering the scars of Carl's old injury reminded Rick of how the loss of his eye had thrust his son into manhood; changing him into the person who would risk his life to save someone he didn't even know. On his deathbed, Carl had told Rick of the future he imagined. A community of people living and working together to survive and build something new. The kind of future that could exist only if Rick changed course; if he chose peace over war.

Rick knelt before his son. He wanted to remember the happy times, before the Turn. But he couldn't see past Carl's wasted complexion. Rick placed his magnum against Carl's skull, his sweaty palms causing his finger to slip on the trigger.

"Do it," he whispered. "Do it!"

But he couldn't do it. The grief paralyzed him.

Suddenly, Carl breathed in, loud and deep, struggling for air.

Rick stumbled back, the gun sliding across the floor. He moved to retrieve it when a sound stopped him short.

"Ugh. It hurts," Carl croaked, coughing.

On instinct, Rick shot to his side. "Carl?"

"But it worked," Carl whispered to himself.

Rick wondered if he was seeing things, like when Lori died. Maybe this was a mental break, his mind attempting to reconcile his grief. Carl turned to look at him, his blue eye alert. Rick noticed a thin white ring surrounding his dilated pupil.

"You're so young." Carl reached out his hand. Rick grabbed it. His skin felt cooler than it had before.

"Are you really alive?" Rick asked, not sure he wanted the answer.

"I'm here," Carl said.

"And I'm here with you."

"I don't have much time, so you need to listen."

Rick nodded, but wondered if he was dreaming all of this, or if Carl had actually regained consciousness so close to death. "What do you need to say?"

"I'm from the future."

Not quite what he was expecting. "Alright."

"And I'm here to help you save me."

-#-

"What future?" Rick asked, his mind lagging, slow to process it all.

The line between reality and fantasy had been blurred ever since the dead started walking the earth. But that didn't mean the laws of time had changed.

" _The_ future. Twenty years from now."

If this really was just a glitch in Rick's brain, a figment of his imagination, he had no idea where exactly his mind was taking him. "You're not from the future, son. You were bitten."

"I hacked the spell."

"What spell?"

"Dad, the origin of the walking dead was a magic, not a virus," Carl continued weakly. "A spell cast in Norleans." He rolled "New Orleans" into one word with ease.

 _Where'd he learn to do that?_ Carl had never been anywhere near Louisiana.

"Magic?" Michonne asked, making Rick jump. She stood a few feet away. Her uncanny ability to move without being noticed still unnerved him. How long had she been standing there?

"Michonne," Carl said, looking her way.

"Right here," she said, coming to kneel by Rick.

The rush of gratitude he felt at having her by his side only deepened his guilt over lashing out at her earlier.

"A spell of sorts, conceived by someone skilled in blood magic," Carl continued.

"Why? How?" Rick asked.

"She died before I could ask her."

"Did you end up breaking it? The spell?" Michonne asked, as though this were just a normal conversation. When had she, the diehard skeptic, developed a belief in magic?

"The daughter of the priestess who cast the spell." Carl's words came out garbled, as though his mouth were full of gravel. "I knew blood science, she knew blood magic. We created a vaccine to prevent death and reanimation." Carl smiled weakly. "And fell in love. You guys are grandparents."

Imagining Carl living and breathing - with kids - lifted some of the darkness that had settled in Rick's heart.

"But a vaccine won't save you. It's too late," Michonne said, the resignation clear in her voice.

"Blood-"

Carl's eyes suddenly rolled into the back of his head. His body convulsed violently, his facial muscles spasming all at once.

"Carl!" Rick yelled, not sure whether to hold him down or leave him be.

"It's a seizure," Michonne said. "Get him onto his side. Now."

Rick grabbed his shoulders and Michonne his legs, as they rolled Carl onto his side. His frail body continued to jerk, saliva trailing from the side of his mouth and onto the pillow. Mere seconds felt like hours. And then it was over.

Carl's body went limp and they returned him to his original position. Slowly, he came to, cringing. Rick grabbed his son's hand, wanting to take the pain away. He wiped the drool from Carl's chin with his sleeve. Carl took a few deep breaths, a rattling noise settling deep in his chest. "I can't hold on much longer."

Rick took a deep breath, saying the words he'd lacked the courage to speak before Carl lost consciousness the first time. "I failed you." Then he let anger displace the guilt. "I should've gotten rid of Siddiq when I had the chance."

"Everything's happened as it had to," Carl said. "Don't lose hope."

Rick shook his head. Hope had only led them to the most hopeless situation of all. Alexandria was in flames, the Hilltop had suffered losses and he didn't even know the status of the Kingdom. Rick's hope that they could defeat the Saviors, that they would be the last ones standing, had only resulted in his son's current predicament.

Carl squeezed his hand with the strength of a boy hovering between life and death. "If you'd killed Siddiq, then we wouldn't have a doctor. He'll save people."

"You were right to save him," Michonne said quietly, gripping Carl's leg.

Rick really looked at Michonne, for the first time since they'd moved Carl from the tunnels to their home. Her expression remained unreadable, like it had been when he first interrogated her at the prison. When she had no reason to trust him. She was as grimy and exhausted as he was. Her eyes were puffy, yet glassy with unshed tears. He nearly drowned in his shame at having lashed out at her earlier.

She had to be as shocked by Carl's return as he was, but she remained calm, stoic even. If this mother-warrior fell apart, he would be close behind her. And she must have known that. He realized then how little he'd done to deserve the strength and support of her feminine energy.

"How can we know you're really from the future?" she asked.

"Judith's father is Shane."

Rick paused, his shocked brain moving at a snail's pace. "How…."

He looked to Michonne, but she just shook her head. He knew she would never have divulged his secret. If not for his sake, then for Carl's. But if she hadn't, then who…

"You tell us both, on her 16th birthday."

Rick was stunned by the revelation. He'd made that decision a long time ago, to wait until Judith was a teenager to tell her about Lori and Shane. And now Carl was telling him that was exactly what he had done. In the future.

"A walker bite begins the process of reanimation, before the actual death." Carl paused, his breathing becoming shallow. "This process provides a link across time, between the past, present and future. The conscious." Carl focused on Rick. "Blood…André…can save me. But Mike must not die."

With those final words, Carl went completely still. Rick and Michonne watched for signs of consciousness. There were none. He'd returned to the state he was in before. Not dead, but not quite alive either. After watching his son slip away for the second time, Rick felt something he thought had abandoned him forever. Hope.

-#-

"Time travel isn't real," Michonne said, rubbing her temples. "I don't know what that was, but it wasn't Carl coming to us from the future."

"He came back, Michonne," Rick said. "We were both there to witness it. You're the one who went on about magic and such."

The ridiculousness of this conversation struck him. Were they really arguing about time travel and magic?

She shook her head, as though trying to shake away the truth of what had just occurred. "Magic is a possibility. Time travel isn't. And if it were, the two are in completely different realms. Maybe the whole thing was just a hallucination. We've both got a history of talking to people who aren't there."

Rick refused to back down. Carl's consciousness had traveled across time to give them a message. One that could prevent him from dying. Deep down, he knew Michonne believed it too. He just needed her brain to catch up to her heart, so they could figure this out together.

"How did he know about Judith then? I certainly didn't tell him. Neither did you," Rick said. "And then there was Mike. You told him about André, not your ex."

"Carl is dying!" Her voice resonated with dejected anger. "Nothing is going to change that."

Rick wanted to comfort her, to acknowledge her grief. But this might be their only hope of saving Carl and he had to push her to believe it as much as he did. "This isn't the end of his story. Or ours. It can't be."

She stared at him as though she were beginning to open herself up to believing in him again.

"'Chonne," Rick said. "Carl came back for a reason. And if my traveling to the past helps him survive this, we have to try."

"Why can't you just accept that he's gone?" Michonne asked, on the verge of giving in.

"Because Carl is meant to be something. He's meant to change things, to change everything."

She remained quiet for some time before responding. "If time travel really is a possibility, saving André would change everything." She looked both hopeful and terrified at the prospect. "We might never meet."

Rick's heart stopped. Would he really be forced to make a choice between his son and the woman he loved? "We don't know that for sure. You might still have ended up at the prison. Or we might have crossed paths some other way."

She frowned, considering something. "The memory of the camp has always been hazy. The horror of losing André…was something I just wanted to forget. But when I dream of that time, you're always there. And it feels like we were there together."

"Let's consider that it's not just a dream. Carl said the spell provides a link throughout time. Maybe it's a memory of what _will_ happen, not what has happened already."

"Even if that were the case, how would you even travel to the past? You've never been bitten or been close to death. At least not during the time I was in the camp."

"But I _was_ in a coma."

After their first night together, Michonne had shared stories about André and how she'd fled the chaos of Atlanta - along with her boyfriend Mike and his best friend, Terry - to seek refuge in a camp controlled by the National Guard. It had been around the time of his coma.

"Hmm," was all she said.

"Carl mentioned hacking the spell. Maybe I can do the same. Use my coma as some sort of anchor to the past."

Michonne shook her head. "This is crazy, Rick."

"Not any more than the conversation we just had with Carl."

"But even if you're able to go back, what exactly do you need to do to save Carl?"

Rick thought back to their conversation. "He mentioned something about blood."

"Blood as a cure? It can't be that simple. Although…" Michonne tilted her head. "My aunt was a scholar of folk religion and the mystic arts, magic and such. From what I remember, blood is crucial to some spells. If the original spell was bound by blood, maybe it'll take that same blood to counter the effects of the spell."

"So it's not necessarily a vaccine, but just blood, that would be enough to save Carl."

"Likely a special type of blood."

"Maybe a rare type?"

Her smile was a beacon in the darkness. "AB-Negative."

Rick nodded. "The rarest type on the planet."

"Yes. And André's blood type."

"Of course. That can't just be a coincidence." Rick was certain now of what he needed to do and Michonne seemed to have jumped on the bandwagon.

"I agree. But we still haven't figured out how time travel works. How do we send you back?"

Rick was ready to put everything on the line. "I have one idea. But you're not going to like it."

-#-

 _This is it_ , Rick thought, his heavy eyelids drooping against his will.

The wicked cocktail of Xanax and Codeine that he'd ingested was rapidly making its way through his system. They'd searched the medicine cabinets of the few houses still standing in Alexandria, managing to collect enough pills to do the trick.

It was a gamble. If they lost - if inducing a comatose state didn't allow him to time travel - he would never see her again. Carl's death would be permanent. Judith might grow up without her father. They were banking that a coma was close enough to death for him to use the spell in the same way Carl had and connect him to his past self. This was all an exercise in faith; faith that Carl had lived well into the future because Rick had succeeded in the past.

"It won't be much longer now," Michonne whispered, her cheek resting on the top of his head. The rhythm of her heartbeat, which he loved to fall asleep to after lovemaking, was faster tonight.

"I'm sorry for what I said before." Rick tightened his hold around her waist. "You've only ever protected Carl. We never would have made it this far without you."

They lay on the floor of the living room, gazing up at the neon yellow stars Carl had stuck to the ceiling. He'd wanted to make the living room into a sort of planetarium. He'd loved astronomy as a kid.

"Promise me you'll do whatever it takes to save André. Don't let anyone - Mike or me - get in your way."

"I'll do what I need to do."

They'd tried to figure out the timeline, where his coma overlapped with her time in the camp, but neither of them could pinpoint an exact day or time. They could only hope that André would still be alive by the time Rick woke from his coma and found them. It was a terribly long shot.

"Do you remember how to find me?" she asked slowly, as though speaking to a child.

"Yes, Ma'am," he said, liking the way the word rolled off his tongue. "Ma'am." He laughed at the suddenly foreign-sounding word.

She kissed his forehead. "Shhh, just sleep."

Rick nestled into her, wondering if he would remember this moment when he woke in the past. "I love you so much, 'Chonne."

"I love you too." He felt wetness where her cheek met his head. She sniffled.

"I love you a lot. A whole lot."

She chuckled. "I know."

"I think I loved you the first time I saw you, covered in zombie guts. I've never seen someone so beautiful." His last words came out loud and slurred. "I can't lose you."

"You won't. Just close your eyes. Remember me in this moment. Think of how much you love me. How much you love Carl. And Judith. Carry that love with you."

Rick stopped fighting and just let go.

"Come back to me," he heard a voice whisper from miles away, before he sank into darkness.

-#-

 **Four Years Ago**

"Run!" Michonne yelled to the few remained.

Todd - or what was left of him - lay in a bloody heap on the floor, two walkers feasting on his small intestine. Their fearless leader had led them directly into danger and hadn't survived to lead them out. Michonne swung hard, her hatchet connecting with the skull of the walker coming in fast. She kicked it hard in the chest, sending the corpse flying back into the group of walkers streaming through the front entrance, taking a few of its fellow travelers to the ground. She'd known the strip mall was a death trap, but Todd had insisted.

"Food and weapons are the priority. Everything we need is here," Todd had said in response to her objections. The others, hungry and afraid, trusted the man who'd taken charge after the National Guard had abandoned them. The group had gotten cornered in a pawn shop, surprised by three walkers in the storage closet. Now it was up to her to make sure the survivors made it back to the camp alive.

Luckily, most of the group had heeded her command and escaped through the rear exit of the shop. Marsha, a former kindergarten teacher, cowered behind the front counter, the only straggler.

"Marsha!" Michonne looked between the woman and the exit, debating whether or not to leave her as the bell above the front door signaled the arrival of more walkers. She had to survive for André. Her conscience overruled her self-interest and she darted for Marsha. She wrenched the woman up hard by the arm, shoving her through the exit just as a walker got a hold of her shoulder. Michonne spun around, landing the hatchet in its neck, missing her target. She struggled to keep its teeth away from her forearm, desperately trying to dislodge her weapon.

Suddenly, a gunshot rang out and the walker's head exploded, spraying her with blood and bits of gore.

"Michonne!" an unfamiliar voice called from behind her.

She turned to find a bearded man with ice blue eyes aiming a silver pistol in her direction.

"Catch!" He yelled, before chucking some sort of stick her way. She caught it entirely out of instinct.

 _A katana?_ she thought, gripping the leather handle.

"Look out!" he yelled, firing off another shot, the bullet whipping above her left shoulder.

She unsheathed the sword, swinging wildly at whatever came her way. Her movements were frantic and untrained, but good enough to dismember the rotting walkers closing in on her.

"Let's go! There's too many!" he said, waving for her to follow him out the back.

She rushed through the door, taking the katana with her. Her group was nowhere to be found and she hoped they'd headed back to the camp. She and the mystery man fell into a hard sprint, putting distance between themselves and the shop.

"Over here," he said. "We'll be safer if we're not on foot."

Michonne considered whether it was smart to go off with some stranger with a gun, but said stranger had just saved her life. And something in her gut told her she could trust him. Plus, she still had the katana, in case her instincts proved wrong.

She let him lead her behind an adjacent building. Just a few yards ahead, grazing in a field of grass, was a horse, its chestnut coat shining in the afternoon sun. They came to a halt in front of the horse. The man coughed violently, clutching his ribs.

"Are you okay?" she asked between breaths.

He nodded, the coughs tapering off into a more manageable wheeze. She sheathed the katana before strapping it across her shoulder. Grabbing a bottled water from her leather pack, she unscrewed the top and handed it to him.

"Thank you," he said. She almost expected him to call her "Ma'am" with that polite Georgian accent. His Adam's apple bobbed up and down as he drank, a trail of water dripping from his full pink lips and down his bearded chin. She felt thirsty all of a sudden.

"Who are you?" Michonne asked, struck by the fantasy of it all. A man with a silver pistol and a horse had saved her life, like some knight in denim armor.

"Rick," he said.

And then she recalled something that had surprised her back at the pawn shop. "How did you know my name? Have we met before?"

Rick chuckled. "Yes and no."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"I'm from the future."

"From where?" she asked, thinking she'd heard the name of his town wrong.

His baby blue eyes twinkled. "From four years in the future, Michonne. And I came back to find you."


	2. Chapter 2

_**Chapter 2**_

Rick gripped the rump of his horse to avoid wrapping his hands around Michonne's slim waist. She'd insisted on taking the lead, relegating him to the back seat. They rode bareback, the horse trotting along a back road, leaves crunching beneath its hooves. The brilliant scarlet of the red maple trees helped distract him from the fact that his groin was pressed against Michonne's firm behind. The chill autumn air helped to keep his growing excitement at bey. This was his first time riding a horse with Michonne and hopefully it wouldn't be the last. He could get used to this.

"I really appreciate the invitation back to your camp," Rick said.

"Only for the night," she said. "You saved my life, so I'm returning the favor. We don't have enough resources to support another person permanently."

"Understood," Rick said, amused by the bluntness that would remain constant over time. "How long have you been at the camp?"

He needed to establish his timeline. After waking from his comatose state in the hospital, he'd searched for calendars, cell phones - anything that could help him determine the exact day and time. The best he'd been able to conclude was that it was early October.

She peeked at him over her shoulder, assessing his trustworthiness before responding. "It's more of a stronghold than a camp. A small gated community tucked away in a secluded suburb, ten miles south of Atlanta. We've been there two months."

When discussing how Rick could best figure out when the attack would take place, Michonne struggled with providing an exact date. She did recall they'd been at the camp a little more than two months. So he could expect the horde to appear soon, if it hadn't already.

"With your family? Friends?"

She nodded. "My son, his father and a mutual friend. "

Rick noted that she referred to Mike as André's father and not her boyfriend. And that André still lived.

"And you? Are you traveling alone?"

This was Rick's opportunity to broach the subject she had expertly been evading. "I am. But I left my son and partner back in the future."

There was a long beat before she said, "What hospital did you say you woke up in?"

"Not a mental hospital, if that's what you're wondering."

"Of course not."

"You can ask me anything, Michonne, and I promise to be completely honest with you."

"To the best of your ability."

"Yes, to the best of my ability." Her lawyer was showing.

"Whoa," she said, pulling on the leather reins and bringing the horse to a halt. "We're here."

Rick peered up at the 20-foot chain link fence lined with barbed wire. "You should reinforce this. It won't stand up against a large enough horde."

"We're working on it." She faced him. "Before we go in, I need to warn you about something. My son's father, Mike, doesn't take well to outsiders."

"I can handle myself."

She crossed her arms. "I don't doubt that."

He sighed. "You have nothing to worry about, I won't cause any trouble. Unless, your boyfriend's looking for a fight."

"Ex-boyfriend."

Rick smiled. "Ex-boyfriend."

She held his gaze, her pupils dilating. She averted her eyes. "Just don't make me regret bringing you here."

Rick stood firm. "I promise you won't regret it. I won't put your family in jeopardy."

It was a promise he planned on keeping. The lives of both her sons depended on it.

-#-

Rick sat handcuffed to a radiator, watching the scene unfold before him. There had to be at least fifteen people crammed into Michonne's living room. The situation reminded him of the neighborhood watch meetings Lori would host, which usually degenerated into complaints about barking dogs and house parties. A blonde woman in her mid-30s pointed a finger in Michonne's face. "My husband's dead because of you."

Michonne remained calm, not flinching even once. "Step back, Erica."

This Michonne - years younger, with shoulder-length locs - was made of the same stuff as the woman he'd fought, and fallen in love, with. Not many people would dare to challenge her steely expression and the menacing calm she exuded.

Erica hesitated before returning to her spot on the sofa, sitting beside a scrawny kid with similar facial features. Another woman in a blood-stained t-shirt stood. "Michonne tried to warn Todd about the risk, but he wouldn't listen. And if it weren't for her, I wouldn't be here. She saved my life."

"Regardless of who was at fault," a man with tanned skin and greying sideburns said, "Todd is gone. We need to choose a new leader."

A twinge in Rick's heart drove him to act. He didn't know how long he had, or if time in the past moved at the same pace as time in the present. He needed to gain Michonne's trust quickly, in order to accomplish his mission in a short amount of time.

"It's an easy decision," Rick said, feeling all eyes on him. "If you want to survive, your leader needs to be someone with courage, strength, integrity. And a whole lotta smarts. Michonne's the obvious choice."

She locked eyes with him then, this ghost from his past and present. Suspicion melted away when he smiled at her. Her eyes briefly flitted to his lips.

"Michonne has enough on her plate." Mike leaned against the wall, separate from the group. His deep brown complexion matched Michonne's and his shifty eyes hinted at his vice. "Why are you listening to this guy anyway? He's not one of us." It had been his idea to handcuff Rick to the radiator when Michonne had brought him into her home.

In recounting her time at the camp preceding André's death, Michonne had mentioned that Mike spent most of his time snorting Xanax with his best friend, Terry. He'd developed the habit shortly after arriving at the camp, along with a debilitating, agoraphobic-like fear of leaving the safe haven. The responsibility of going on runs to contribute to the group and put food on their table rested solely on her shoulders. Her quickly turned into resentment, the only emotional connection between them.

Rick clenched his jaw remembering how she'd broken down recounting the anxiety and depression she'd suffered from during that time. She'd blamed herself for choosing the wrong man to father her son. It was clear now that Mike was nowhere near Michonne's equal, even though they appeared to be the perfectly matched couple on the outside.

"You don't know me. You have no reason to trust me," Rick said. "But if I can see Michonne's leadership potential after only a few hours, other folks have gotta see it too." A few nods and hushed whispers circulated throughout the group.

"It might've been wise to actually consult with the person you so readily volunteered," Michonne said, though she honestly seemed to be flattered by his proposal. Rick realized this was a side of Michonne he'd never seen before. All her years of litigation, commanding attention in a courtroom, persuading a jury - all of the characteristics that made her a natural leader, were dwelling just below the surface of her modest exterior.

"Mike is right, I have other responsibilities." Michonne addressed Rick directly.

"By leading the group," he responded, "you can better keep Peanut safe." Michonne frowned at him. He'd used André's nickname.

"What do you mean by that?" she asked, standing over him.

He gazed up at her. "Exactly what I said." He wanted to challenge her to believe in the impossible; to believe that he knew everything there was to know about her because they were lovers and partners in the future. He felt she was open to the possibility; open to him. Despite his revelation back at the pawn shop, she'd allowed him to accompany her back to the camp. She instinctually trusted him, even though she might not be able to admit or understand it. Their connection transcended time and logic.

Marsha took the floor again. "I say we take a vote."

"I second that," Erica said. She seemed to enjoy Michonne's discomfort at being put on the spot, probably assuming that no one would vote for her.

"This is ridiculous," Mike said, shaking his head. He gestured to the group. "All of this. What does it even matter anymore? The world has gone to shit and you people want to sit around and take a vote."

"Mike, calm down," Michonne said, grabbing his forearm.

He shook her hand away. "If you'd rather take care of these people than your own son, you're not the mother I thought you were."

She flinched then. Rick sucked at his teeth, itching to beat this cowardly bully to a bloody pulp.

"I'm outta here," Mike said. He retreated through the front door with Terry in tow.

Michonne watched him go, the hurt morphing into controlled anger. It was the same look she'd had whenever the Saviors paid them a visit.

Marsha broke the tense silence. "All those in favor of Michonne taking over for Todd, raise your hand." The vast majority of the group raised their hands, some more slowly than others. Marsha smiled. "Ok. All those opposed?" Erica and her son were the only ones to raise their hands; the others remaining neutral. "It's settled, then. Michonne will take Todd's place. Meeting adjourned." The group filed out, some offering congratulations to Michonne as they left.

Erica remained, confronting her once again. "Don't think I'll forget what you did. You'll get what's coming to you."

"Get some rest, Erica," Michonne responded. "You'll be able to think more clearly in the morning." Erica huffed as she left, her dejected son following her out of the house.

Marsha shook Michonne's hand before departing. "See you in the morning, boss," she called over her shoulder.

Rick silently watched her. Michonne placed her hands on her hips; hips with a little more fullness to them. He liked it. She closed her eyes, bowing her head slightly and silently mouthing a countdown from 10 to 1.

"You can do this," he said, gently.

She laughed to herself, shaking her head. "I knew bringing you home with me was a mistake."

"Why did you?"

She squatted in front of him, her dark brown eyes full of scrutiny. He caught the familiar scent of spearmint and cocoa butter. She unlocked the handcuffs, freeing him from the radiator. He rubbed his wrist as they stood there staring at each other.

"Thank you," Rick said, his eyes still holding hers. He was very aware of not being at liberty to touch her, wondering what she would do if he tried.

"Mommy," a tiny voice said. Rick looked down to see a 3-year-old boy with Michonne's round nose and pouty lips clinging to her leg.

"Hey, Peanut," she said, bending down to lift him into her arms. She smiled like Rick had never seen her smile - with her whole heart. "Ready for lunch?"

"Cookie," André said, gnawing on his miniature fist.

Michonne chuckled. "We're out of cookies. How about peanut butter and jelly, Peanut?" André nodded, watching Rick suspiciously. Michonne tickled him and he giggled. She gestured toward a door a few feet from them. "You're welcome to stay in the basement. For as long as you need."

"I thought you only wanted me here for the night."

She continued, as though she hadn't heard him. "We've got running water and there's a bathroom down there." Her tone was more cheery than before. She bounced André up and down in muscular arms free of the tiny scars he'd grown to love.

"You trust me?" he asked. "Around your family?"

She looked him up and down. "We'll see" she said, before heading into the kitchen.

Stopping in the doorway to the basement, he overheard Michonne singing what sounded like a nursery rhyme, but with gospel undertones, André following along as best he could in his child voice. He'd never heard Michonne sing. Her deep, soothing voice gave him chills. Encountering Michonne before she'd lost her son, a woman who smiled and sang with all her being, made him even more determined to ensure she never experienced the pain of losing any child.

-#-

Michonne lightly knocked on the basement door, not wanting to wake Rick if he was already asleep.

"Come in," he called from the other side.

She took her time descending the stairs, a flashlight in one hand and his dinner in the other. Though they still had running water, the electricity had been out for a few weeks. Rick sat on a futon facing the east wall of the basement. Her book - _White Teeth_ by Zadie Smith - lay open and facedown on the coffee table, beside a small camping lantern. She sat down next to him, passing him a spoon and an opened Ready-to-Eat meal. "It's chili with mac and cheese. One of the better ones we've got."

"Thank you," Rick said, brushing her hand lightly as he accepted the meal. She felt an energy - a spark - where he touched her. The only contact she had nowadays was with André. Mike hadn't touched her in months. She welcomed the contact, even if there were no feelings behind it.

"Just try to make it last for a few meals. We've gone through most of the rations the National Guard left behind." Her gut twisted at the thought of running out of food, which was highly likely in the next few days.

Rick scooped out a small amount, bringing the spoon to his lips. "Mmm," he said, raising an eyebrow as he chewed.

Michonne was mesmerized by those pink lips, her cheeks flushing with heat. She squirmed in her seat. "Not bad, huh?"

"Not at all." After a few more bites, he folded over the top and placed the package on the coffee table. "That hit the spot." He ran a hand over his flat abs. She could almost see the lines of his sculpted muscles under his navy blue t-shirt.

She picked up the book. "This was the only book I brought with me when we abandoned our apartment. It's my favorite."

"It's a little much for me. I'm more of a shoot 'em up Westerns guy."

"Why doesn't that surprise me?"

He smiled with his eyes and her heart skipped a beat. "How long have you been at this camp?" he asked, leaning back and resting his arms on the back of the futon, his knees pointing in her direction.

"Only a few months." She pivoted slightly to face him.

"And the National Guard just left you here? Unprotected? The perimeter fences seem pretty secure, but those won't keep out a large enough horde. You'll need more weapons and reinforcements to better defend your territory."

She appreciated his ability to assess their situation so quickly. It should have worried her, that maybe he was trying to find their weak spot. But her gut dismissed the thought. "We've been on our own for about three weeks. They just up and left in the middle of the night, leaving behind enough food and water to last a couple of weeks. We've managed to stretch it out this long, but the rations will be completely exhausted in a few days."

He leaned back into the futon, putting his arm across the top. "What's the plan?"

Rick's confidence in her ability to lead was refreshing and in direct contrast to Mike's attitude. "There's a school a few miles from here. I think we'd have a good chance of finding food there, since it's off the main road."

"Could be full of walkers. Maybe children. Are you ready to deal with that?"

Michonne tensed. She'd had to put down a little boy not long after the Turn. She still had nightmares about it. "If that's what it comes to." _But please don't let it come to that._

He placed a hand on her knee, caressing her with his thumb. "I'll go with you."

Her reaction to him was immediate, as though he'd touched her in the most intimate place.

"I'm not asking you to do that."

"I want to, 'Chonne."

She stood, putting some distance between the two of them. His familiarity left her feeling uncomfortable - and aroused. "Don't call me that. Who are you? Really."

"I told you who I am." His gaze never wavered. "And you love it when I call you that."

She rolled her eyes. "Just because the dead can walk the earth, doesn't mean that things like time travel exist."

"It's exactly what it means." He stood, facing her head-on.

Michonne crossed her arms over her chest. "Then prove it. Prove to me that you really are from the future."

Rick tilted his head to the side, not backing down from her challenge. "Ok. Your middle name is Anna and you were born on August 1st."

She scoffed. "That information isn't exactly secret. The fact that you know it makes me think you've been stalking me, maybe before the Turn."

He smirked. "You have a birthmark shaped like a maple leaf. On the inside of your right thigh."

Michonne blazed with embarrassment. "How could you…when did you…" She wracked her brain for some memory or image of Rick, maybe from some drunken one-night stand in college.

But she remembered the face of every man she'd slept with and definitely wouldn't have forgotten a face like Rick's. She took a step back. "I don't know what this is or how you know these things about me, but I was wrong to bring you here. I think it's best if you leave."

Rick stood his ground. "Forgive me, but you're giving me no choice." He paused. "When you found out you were pregnant with André, you drove to Savannah to have an abortion. But changed your mind at the last minute and never looked back."

Michonne froze. She'd never told a soul about that. She'd gotten pregnant during her last semester of law school and had struggled over whether or not to keep the baby. She hadn't even told Mike about the pregnancy, as he was just beginning his career as an art dealer. Sitting in the clinic, alone and afraid, she'd realized she wanted to be a mother, even though the timing was less than perfect. She'd walked out just as the nurse called her name.

Rick closed the distance between them, gripping her arms lightly. "I know how difficult that time was for you and I'm sorry to bring it up. But I need you to believe in me."

He looked at her, with so much love, that she couldn't turn away from him or from the truth he'd laid out in front of her. "What are we to each other, in the future?"

Rick's heated expression made her throb with desire. "You fall in love with me," he said in a low voice. He took both of her hands in his. And she let him. Lifting her hands to his lips, he placed a gentle kiss on the knuckles of one hand, and then the other, his sparkling eyes capturing hers. Michonne exhaled, shutting her eyes. He released her hands to cradle her face. And then his lips caressed the tip of her nose, her left cheek, the corner of her mouth.

"Rick," she breathed, keeping her eyes shut, wanting to sear this sensory experience into her memory.

And then he kissed her with those soft, full lips, quenching the thirst that had existed since meeting him.

-#-

Rick devoured the peanut butter and jelly sandwich Michonne had left for him. She and André would be at a play date for the next hour or so.

Mike walked into the kitchen, pausing when he noticed Rick sitting at the kitchen table. Based on his disheveled appearance, Rick guessed he'd just woken up.

"Afternoon," Rick said, licking peanut butter from his fingers.

"Hmmph," Mike grunted, joining Rick at the kitchen table. He pulled out a crumpled pack of cigarettes. "You don't mind if I smoke."

"Naw," Rick said, though Mike had already lit a cigarette. He noticed the slightest tremor in Mike's hand as he took a long drag of nicotine and smoke. The men exchanged glares.

"Where did you say you're from?" Mike asked.

"I didn't," Rick responded. "But since you've invited me into your home, I don't mind sharing. King County."

"Just to be clear, I didn't invite you. Michonne did."

Rick crossed his arms. "Thanks for clarifying."

Mike took another drag from his cigarette. "King County, huh? Not much diversity out that way. And you were a cop?"

"Sheriff's deputy."

"Same difference."

Rick leaned forward, tired of the song and dance. "If you've got a problem with me, just come out and say it." Rick had encountered guys like Mike several times in his life. College-educated pricks who grew up in the city and assumed he was some ignorant country bumpkin because he grew up in a small town.

"Look, man," Mike said. "Michonne may trust you, but I can't have some stranger around my kid. It's best if you find somewhere else to stay."

"How about we leave that decision up to the person who's actually in charge?"

Mike put his cigarette out on the tabletop, heat behind his bloodshot eyes. "You better watch your tone, Andy Griffith."

"We both know Michonne has been holding it down, without any help from you. If you want to have some say in what goes on around here, you shouldn't let the drugs do the talking for you."

Mike stood slowly, towering over Rick. "You wanna say that again?" Rick clenched his fist, standing. Mike had a few inches on him, but he'd taken down guys bigger than him.

"Everything alright in here?" Michonne asked, breaking the tension. She held a sleeping André in her arms.

"Fine," Rick said, not taking his eyes off Mike.

Mike turned his back on Rick to face Michonne. "We need to talk," he said before leaving the kitchen.

Rick walked over to Michonne, arms outstretched. "I'll put him to bed for you."

She hesitated, but then handed André over. "Thanks." She really was starting to trust him. "Sorry about Mike. He's not…himself."

André stirred a little and Rick rocked him gently. "Don't be sorry. I'm here to help, in any way you need me."

She smiled suggestively. "I'll hold you to that."

"Yes, Ma'am."

Rick let himself enjoy the easy moment, knowing things were about to get a lot more difficult for the both of them really soon.

-#-

Michonne licked her lips as she watched a shirtless Rick work on installing a second fence just inside of the perimeter. He'd taken charge of the project, directing the group of folks who'd volunteered to help. She liked the way he led, how he managed to balance assertiveness with compassion, and listened as much as he commanded.

"My God," Marsha said, suddenly by her side. "That is one beautiful man. Please tell me you're hittin' that."

Michonne snorted, surprised by the kindergarten teacher's racy comments. "We're just friends. He's been a real asset to me and to the community, in the short time he's been here."

"Ok," Marsha said, though her tone suggested she believed otherwise. "Just don't let anything get in the way of your happiness. You deserve to let your hair down and have fun every once in a while. Plus, I've seen the way he looks at you. That men could fry bacon with the amount of heat behind his eyes. I wish Steve looked at me that way."

Michonne laughed. "Everyone here knows how much Steve loves you. He would literally kill for you."

"I know and I love him for it. I just wish he showed me even half the interest Rick shows you. Don't look a gift horse in the mouth, Michonne. Accept what life has so graciously dumped in your lap. And I've got a few extra condoms if you need them."

Michonne smiled, watching Marsha go. She turned to find Rick standing there, sweaty and lean, his pecs and abs cut in all the right places. "How long have you been standing there?" she asked, her cheeks blazing.

Rick smirked. "Not long. Just wanted to know if we had any mallets."

Michonne cleared her throat, hoping he hadn't caught Martha's departing comment. "You can check with Bob. He's always got extra tools lying around."

"Alright," Rick said, in that slow drawl that haunted her naughtiest dreams. He moved to leave and then turned back. "If you're going to borrow condoms, just make sure they're large enough."

Michonne inhaled deeply, her eyes dropping to his bowed legs as he walked away, wanting more than anything to find out just how large of a size he would need.


	3. Chapter 3

_**A/N:**_ We have come to the conclusion of our story. We want to thank **Afilmmefatale** for tackling this prompt on her own. We also want to thank **jojoindi-blog** one more time for her amazing prompt request. As always please check out our writer's other stories on her FF page and leave those reviews, they are appreciated.

 **-We're The Ones Who Write**

* * *

 _ **Chapter 3**_

Rick and Michonne rode alone in a midsize van filled to the brim with newly acquired supplies. They followed behind a black sedan carrying the three other people who had accompanied them on the prosperous run.

Things had been slightly awkward between them since the kiss. One minute he would catch her checking him out and the next she would go out of her way to avoid him. He probably should have kept his distance. In some weird way, he felt as though he was being disloyal to the Michonne from his time. But here she was - the woman he would come to trust more than anyone in the world - sitting three feet away from him, and all he wanted to do was kiss and feel this version of her; this Michonne free from the torment that had connected them, and that sometimes awakened her in a cold sweat.

He tried his best to focus on the real reason he was there. Rick had been living with Michonne for fours days now and still had no idea when the attack, which could result in André's death, would take place. To avoid altering the future any more than necessary, he had decided to wait until the attack to save André - and Mike - from death. Only then could he be sure that he'd done as Carl had directed.

Since his time in the camp, he and Michonne had gone on several runs together. He put in twice the effort to ensure they returned to the camp in record time, just in case that day was the one of the attack. Each time they'd returned home to find André safe and sound. Rick would keep watch for hours, to ensure there was no sign of a horde on the horizon. While he'd been open with Michonne about being from the future, he had yet to reveal his true reasons for being there. Her knowing the truth about André would likely cause more harm than good.

Rick concentrated on the road ahead. They were quickly losing light as the sun gradually dipped further below the horizon. They rode in silence. If he knew her in the past as well as he did in the future, she was letting guilt about their kiss lead the way. Though he'd assessed early on that she and Mike were hardly in any sort of relationship, her ex was André's father. There might still be some feelings of attachment there.

"Mike moved out today," she said, breaking the silence. "I just thought you should know."

"I already knew," Rick said. He'd heard them arguing from his room in the basement.

"Of course," she said to herself. "You know everything."

He looked over at her, aware of the sudden distance between them. He pulled over to the side of the road and cut the engine.

"What's wrong?" she asked, grabbing her katana. When he'd found her in the pawn shop, the katana was one of the first things he spotted when looking for a weapon to toss to her. In only a few days, it had become like a second skin and she never went anywhere without it. She practiced with the weapon for hours at a time, André sometimes practicing along with her, using a stick in place of a sword.

"We need to talk about the kiss. About everything."

She looked ahead. "The others are going to be worried."

"We got done two hours early. They can wait." He took her hand in his, rubbing his thumb across her skin. "I came back for a reason. In the future, my son is dying."

"Is he our son?" she asked, her eyes wide.

Rick chuckled. "Well, you're his mother, but you aren't related by blood."

She nodded slowly, staring into space again. "You came back to save him."

"Yes. It's a long story, but we - you and me - learn that the key to saving him is in the past."

She turned to face him. "So, what is it? How do we save him?"

He loved that even though she'd never met Carl, she was fully invested in fighting for his life. Rick felt a twinge of guilt for not telling her the truth about André. She trusted him and telling her now might cause him to lose that trust. "It's not something you need to know now. I'll tell you soon."

"Ok.".

He cradled her cheek, caressing her silky skin. "Thank you for trusting me."

Michonne's eyes grew even wider. This time she made the first move. She unbuckled her seatbelt and hopped into this lap, straddling him. Her kiss was fervent and sweet like the chocolate pudding she'd shared with André before they'd left for their run. Her passion stirred his desire.

Telling himself they had more than enough time to spare, he lowered his hands, gripping her full hips. She pulled her t-shirt over her head. He kissed the space between her breasts, inhaling her spicy scent. She ran her fingers through his curls, rubbing her groin against the bulge in his jeans. He pulled down the cups of her bra, exposing her silky smooth breasts.

"Ahhh," she cried out, when he sucked on her nipple with just the amount of pressure he knew she liked. She unbuckled his jeans, sliding her hand down the front of his boxers.

"Michonne," he breathed, as she stroked his length, making him harder by the second.

She lifted herself out of his lap, clumsily removing her pants and then her cotton panties. He freed his cock from his jeans, aching for her. He held her eyes, full of desire and need, as she spread her legs and lowered herself onto his cock.

"Fuck," she moaned, as her tight core enveloped him. She slid down easily, wet and ready. He thrust into her as she gyrated her hips, the van creaking with their efforts.

"Shit," he said, when her muscles tightened around him.

"I'm coming," she yelled, clamping down on his cock as she orgasmed.

He cried out as he exploded, a stream of cum squirting deep inside of her. The sound of heavy breathing filled the van.

"I love you," Rick said, the words coming as easily to him as they always did after they made love.

Michonne laughed. "Why am I not freaked out by that? I've known you less than a week."

Rick kissed her deeply, enjoying the salty and sweet taste of her. "Because you love me too."

Michonne kissed him back, not affirming her love for him, but not denying it either. "I'll definitely have to borrow those condoms for the next time."

-#-

Michonne laughed as she watched Rick spin in circles with André on his shoulders. Her son giggled, one tiny hand clinging to Rick's curls and the other gripping his forehead. This man not only had the ability to make her melt with one touch, but to warm her heart in the deepest way.

Tonight was a celebration. The stores of canned food they'd found on this run would last them well through the fall and coming winter. They'd all gathered in her backyard to partake in a feast of pork and beans, peaches, green beans and other goodies. Tomorrow they would take inventory, but tonight they would eat to their heart's content.

Because of Rick, they'd found and loaded the supplies in record time, returning to the camp a lot sooner than expected. Without him, they might still be out on the road during the most dangerous time to travel. Each day she grew more grateful for his presence and assistance, hoping that his "mission" would involve him staying with them for the long-term.

After their sexy rendezvous in the van, all she could think of was making love to him again. Granted, it had been months since she'd had sex, but sex with Rick was like nothing she'd ever experienced in her life. It left her aching for more than just his dick.

"You're making a fool of yourself," Mike said, suddenly by her side.

She sighed, not in the mood for another fight. "And how am I doing that?"

"This man," he said, nodding to Rick, "shows up out of nowhere and you invite him to stay in our house. And then you kick me out. How do you think that looks?"

"Looks to who? Erica?" Michonne had found out the woman had been spreading rumors about her, Rick and Mike being involved in some sort of sordid ménage à trois, that had resulted in her breaking up with the latter. It was true Michonne had feelings for Rick. She had this almost primal connection with him. He'd opened a door in her heart that she thought had closed forever. Maybe it had to do with him saving her life, or claiming to be her lover from some distant future, but she was falling in love with him.

"He's just using you. Once he gets what he wants, he'll be on to the next woman."

"Why do you care, Mike? You're the one who used our fight months ago as an excuse to sleep with Erica." Mike at least had the decency to look guilty. "Yeah, you didn't think I knew about that." She shook her head. "Look, you decided a long time ago who you would be in this new world. The only reason we've stayed together this long was so André could have his father around, even if you're only present half the time."

"That's not fair, Michonne. You have no idea what I've been going through. Not everyone can adapt to death as easily as you. Sometimes I think you even enjoy it."

"Everything I do is for that little boy. I don't have the choice to opt out like you. We move in this world in different ways, I get it. I accept it. And you need to accept that I'm not willing to sacrifice what little happiness I can find in this world, to spare your ego."

Mike grabbed her arm roughly. "Who do you think you are, talking to me like that?"

She tried to pull away, but he dug his fingers into her arm, making her wince. Michonne was used to his outbursts, but this was the first time he'd gotten physical with her. "Let go of me."

"Make me," he said, his bloodshot eyes as cold as ice.

"You heard the lady," Rick said, appearing by her side. "Get your damn hands off of her."

Mike flung her arm away, causing her to lose her balance. Rick caught Michonne, positioning himself between her and Mike. He looked up at Mike. "I'd rather not deck you in front of your son. So go cool off somewhere."

Michonne moved from behind Rick. She needed to put an end to this before things got out of hand. She placed herself between the men. "Enough. It's over." Michonne addressed Mike. "You put your hands on me like that again, you better be prepared to fight me."

"Michonne, I'm sorry-" Mike began.

A scream in the distance drew their attention. The festivities came to a halt, everyone growing quiet all at once. The barely audible moans of walkers drifted their way. The threat Michonne feared the most had finally come knocking.

-#-

This was the moment Rick had been waiting for. The camp was under attack and it was up to him to ensure that André survived.

Michonne moved into action. She unsheathed the katana strapped to her back and addressed the group of terrified adults and children. "You know the drill. Account for everyone in your party and move to your assigned areas. No light and no noise. Move!" There was no need to tell them twice. The people gathered supplies and children and scattered. "Marsha and Steve - you're with me." Marsha and her husband joined Michonne, armed and ready to defend their camp.

Michonne scooped André into her arms. The perceptive child looked on the verge of tears. "It's okay, Peanut. Everything's going to be okay. You're going to stay with daddy, okay?"

Mike reached for André, but Rick stepped between them. "I can't let you do that," Rick said, holding his magnum by his side.

"Are you really trying to stand between me and my son?" Mike yelled. André began to cry, holding tighter onto Michonne.

"We don't have time for this, Mike! Rick can stay with André and you can come with me. We're going to need as many fighters as we can get." Mike looked completely terrified at the prospect of facing walkers.

"Not up for the fight?" Rick prodded. If Mike went with Michonne, he could better ensure her son's safety. And it was highly unlikely Mike would come back alive.

As Rick expected, Mike's pride got the better of him. "Fine," he said, though he made no effort to hide his fear. Michonne handed André to Rick. She gave Mike a gun.

"Be safe out there," Rick said. He patted André's back to try and calm him down.

She kissed him. He gripped her waist with one hand, pulling her close, not caring that Mike was watching them.

She ended the kiss, pressing her forehead against his. "Just take care of my baby."

"You know I will."

He watched her leave with Mike, suddenly fearful he would never see her again.

-#-

Rick finally got André to calm down after returning home. Singing _All the Pretty Little Horses_ , the nursery rhyme he'd heard Michonne sing so many times in the days they'd been together, had done the trick. They were in the basement. Underground, the sounds of gunfire were dampened.

André remained awake - proving to be as vigilant as his mother - but rested his head on Rick's chest as he sat on the futon, cradling the child in his arms. He wanted to be out there on the frontlines with Michonne, fighting beside her like they'd done so many times before. But keeping André safe was his priority. It was the whole reason he'd come this far. It was the only way to save Carl.

Rick heard the front door open and footsteps rush across the living room. He grabbed his gun, preparing to face any and all threats.

"André!" Mike called from above.

He listened for another set of footsteps - for Michonne - but heard none. Rick slipped André into the playpen behind the futon, out of sight. Mike rushed down the basement steps, immediately spotting Rick. He was covered in blood and gore, his expression distraught and frantic.

Rick stood, holding his magnum at his side. "Where's Michonne?"

"She's dead," Mike said, his face twisted in pain. "The walkers got her and they're heading this way."

Rick stumbled, like he'd had the wind knocked out of him. _She can't be dead. Michonne always survives._

And then he noticed it. The moans of the walkers were closer. A gunshot rang out. It sounded like it came from the house next door. Walkers would be on top of them soon.

"Where's my son?" Mike asked.

Rick noticed the pistol in his hand. The one Michonne had given him. "How do you know she's dead?" Rick asked.

"She was surrounded, man! By like twenty of those things. I tried to help her, but there were too many."

Rick could barely see through the blinding rage. "So you just left her out there? Alone?"

"I couldn't help her." Mike began to sob. "She's always been the one to protect us, to keep us alive, and I couldn't save her."

Rick aimed his gun straight ahead, his sights on Mike. He remembered Carl's words, that Mike must survive, but his anger blinded him. Mike aimed his gun at Rick, his hand shaky.

"Rick!" Michonne yelled from out of nowhere.

A spark. A gunshot. Blinding pain. Rick brought his hand to his stomach, the source of the pain. He pulled his hand away to find it covered in blood. Michonne screamed as Rick went down. André wailed in the background.

"Shit, shit, shit!" Mike said in a state of panic.

And then Michonne was there with him, propping his head in her lap, her beautiful, blood-splattered face in full view. "No," she whispered.

Rick coughed, blood dribbling from the corner of his mouth. "You're alive."

Tears streamed down her cheeks, her nose runny. She pressed her hands against the wound. "I can't stop the bleeding."

"It doesn't even hurt anymore," Rick said. "The walkers?"

"We got most of them. The others are handling the rest. We're safe."

Rick nodded, his vision slowly drowning in black. "Everything's happened as it had to."

"Please don't leave me."

He had to tell her the truth, before it was too late. "The reason I came here was for André. To save him."

"What do you mean?"

"In the other timeline, my time, he died during an attack on the camp. This attack."

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"I didn't want to put you or him at risk. I'm sorry for lying to you."

Michonne shook her head. "I don't care. My son is alive and that's all that matters."

"I almost failed though. I almost killed Mike."

"What?" Mike squeaked.

"I thought you were dead. And I couIdn't handle it," Rick said, quickly fading.

"Shh, it's okay," she said, smoothing his hair.

"André's blood is the cure."

"What does that mean? How?"

Rick felt the last of life slipping away, his eyes drooping.

"Rick!" Michonne yelled, roughly shaking him.

"Don't worry." He raised his bloody hand to her cheek. "There's no way we don't end up together."

She bent down and kissed him. "I won't forget you."

"You better not." And then Rick slipped away.

-#-

 **Present Day**

Rick opened his eyes to glowing, neon yellow stars. He sat up, his body stiff and aching, as though he'd been lying on the floor for hours. He was back in the living room.

"Carl," he croaked. "Michonne."

Only silence greeted him. Rick stood slowly, getting his bearings. It was night. It was the same as before. Nothing had changed.

"Michonne," he called out, looking around for her. When he looked above the fireplace, he gasped. In place of the hooks for her katana was a painting he'd never seen. "It can't be," he whispered, suddenly noticing other differences. The flower vase, the mahogany bookshelf, the brass sun-framed mirror - all the things she'd added to their home, had disappeared.

He looked to his left. On the couch lay Carl's motionless form, exactly how it had been before he'd left. His breathing was barely perceptible. Carl was still dying. Except now, Michonne was not with them.

It had all been for nothing. As far as he could tell, his actions had only erased Michonne from his life. He was so distraught, he ignored the sound of a vehicle pulling up outside. The firm knock on the door finally caught his attention. Wiping away his tears, he unholstered his gun, before moving slowly to the front door.

"Rick, are you there?" a muffled voice asked.

 _Michonne?_

He whipped open the door to find Michonne on the other side. She was different though. The locs were gone, replaced by a cropped haircut accentuated by tight curls. She wore blue denim jeans and a tan blazer over a white button-down shirt. The only thing that remained the same was the katana strapped to her back. And that beautiful smile of hers.

He almost didn't notice the young boy holding her hand and the man standing beside her. The kid was around seven or eight years old, with Michonne's soft nose and the eyes of the man accompanying them.

 _André. Mike._

Michonne smiled. "I hope we're not too late."

-#-

Mike emptied a syringe of pinkish liquid into Carl's right arm.

"What now?" Rick asked.

"Now, we wait," Michonne said gently.

André rubbed the colorful bandaid on the crook of his elbow. "It's Spongebob, Mommy."

"Mmm, hmm," Michonne said, placing two fingers on Carl's wrist to check his pulse. It was weak, but still there. She lifted his eyelid and shone a small flashlight in his eye. His pupil constricted slightly.

"He hasn't turned yet," Rick said, astonished.

"No, he's still human," Michonne said. "We found you just in time." She had begun to lose hope that they would find him at all, especially after all these years and failed leads.

"Is he going to make it?" Rick asked.

"I think so. He was on the cusp of death, but he's fighting. He's strong like you. All we can do now is wait and hope the serum works."

"I'm hungry," André said.

"Help yourself to whatever's in the kitchen," Rick said.

"Thanks, for everything," Mike said. "And sorry about shooting you. I was a piece of shit back then."

"No hard feelings. It seemed to work out for the both of us in the end," Rick said.

"Come on, buddy," Mike said, taking André's hand. "Let's give your mom and Mr. Grimes some privacy."

Rick and Michonne sat in silence for a few moments, just taking each other in. She had a glow about her, which made her look even more beautiful. She placed a hand on his thigh. "I thought I'd never see you again," she said. Rick looked down at her hand and laced his fingers with hers. Her heart skipped a beat.

He stared at her with red-rimmed eyes. "Thank you."

"You traveled across time to save my son, now I get the chance to save yours."

"What happened, after I died?"

"Well, I had to leave your body, to check on the rest of the camp. When I came back, you were gone." She laughed. "Mike had a fit. He'd been in the house the entire time."

"So I vanished?"

"I don't know exactly, but you were nowhere to be found. I even traveled to the hospital you mentioned, but your room was empty when I got there."

"I must have somehow ended up where I started, to be here now."

"I don't know. But someone, or something, was at work."

"How did you end up finding Alexandria? I don't think I ever told you the specifics."

"After I figured out what you meant about André's blood being the cure, we hit the road in search of other communities. Mike kicked the drugs and traveled with us. He found the doctor who taught us how to develop serum from André's blood and we've been healing people from bites ever since. I asked about you everywhere I went, with no luck. And then we found the Oceansiders, who knew exactly who you were and where to find you."

"And that brought you here to me? To us?"

She nodded.

"So you and Mike?" Rick asked.

"Just co-parents." He looked relieved.

"You were right," she said. "There's no way we don't end up together."

"I love you," Rick said without hesitation.

And Michonne said the words she'd been waiting to say for years. "I love you, Rick."

He caressed her cheek. "I thought I'd lost you. I can't do this without you."

"Dad?" a voice croaked, almost inaudibly.

"Carl!" Rick said. The teen opened his eye. It was as blue as Rick's and sparkled with life. "I'm here, son," Rick said, crying.

"Me too," Michonne said, holding on tight to Rick, planning to never let go again.

-#-

 **Epilogue**

"You ready?" Carl asked, as they watched a caravan of black SUVs driving toward them. Rick stood in the road with Carl, Michonne, André and Mike, a hand on his holstered magnum. "You won't need it. The fight ends today. We've got a cure now."

"I hope you're right," Rick said. But he was prepared to put a bullet in Negan's head if he looked at any of them the wrong way.

Michonne slipped her hand in his. "Carl's right. I've dealt with people like Negan before. Once they realize we can fight the dead, they tend to choose preserving life over taking it."

"He's a monster. You can't believe a word he says."

"But I believe in Carl," Michonne said. "And I believe in you. You wouldn't be here if you didn't think it were possible."

"All we've got is hope," Carl said. "And sometimes that's all we need."

"You two are already teaming up on me?" Rick asked, feigning annoyance. They'd all been together a little over two weeks, but Michonne and Carl were on their way to becoming fast friends.

"Get with the program, old man," Michonne said. She'd joked about how gray he'd gone since she'd last seen him. Rick watched as the vehicles came to a stop in front of them.

"Here we go," Carl said. "This is where it all begins."


End file.
